


Lost He Wandered Under Leaves

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dain is King of Erebor, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, Blacksmith!Thorin - Freeform, HRBB14, M/M, Mentions of hunting, brief non-graphic mention of past violence, deer!bilbo, fawn!bilbo, hobbit reverse big bang 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin son of Thrain is a struggling blacksmith descended from a fallen line of kings.</p><p>In an attempt to provide for his family over the winter, he reluctantly accepts an impossible sounding task - to hunt down an enchanted deer that lives in the Old Forest that borders the Shire, and make armour and weapons from its hide and antlers. </p><p>He never expected to succeed. And he certainly never expected what he found to change his life so completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one of two entries for the Hobbit Reverse Big bang over on tumblr.
> 
> Firstly, a huge massive thank you to [Non6](http://http://non6ix.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous [art](http://non6ix.tumblr.com/tagged/hrbb14), ideas and inspiration! 
> 
> Also, a big thanks to [Synchrony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchrony) for betaing this fic and putting up with all the panicked emails in the middle of the night because I had forgotten how to write. 
> 
> And a big thanks to the [hrbb14](http://hobbitreversebang.tumblr.com/) mods for running this challenge!
> 
> **IMPORTANT EDIT 13/11/17: I have had to remove the images from this fic, please make sure to follow the link above to Non6ix's work to view them!**

The man standing in front of Thorin smirked when he noticed his eyes settle on the heavy coin pouch in his hand. Clearly he saw the fact that Thorin’s clothes were worn and boots were scuffed without seeing that the quality of the fabric and leather would outlast anything that he could acquire in the towns of men.

He looked at Thorin as if he were a penniless vagabond who could be easily manipulated with just a hint of gold.

Unfortunately, infuriatingly, it was not that far from the truth. As much as Thorin wanted to turn him away and walk out of the dank inn in Bree known as the Prancing Pony, he needed the money. Not just for him, but for his sister and her two boys.

And it was a lot of gold. Not a true reflection of his skill – no man had ever offered him that - but enough to keep his family safe and warm throughout the fast approaching winter.

So he forced down his pride, even though it thrashed and crawled inside his stomach like a living thing, and asked, “What do you need me to do?”

The man who had introduced himself with the unlikely name of Hunter smirked at him. “I want you to make some armour, and a knife and bow. But not just any armour.” He paused to take a gulp of his ale before leaning closer to Thorin. “You have heard the tales of the creature that lives in the woods beyond the Barrow-Downs, haven’t you?”

“Creature?” Thorin asked sceptically.

The man didn’t seem to pick up on Thorin’s tone and leaned even closer, his voice lowering to deter any eavesdroppers, though how there could be any in the noisy room Thorin had no idea. “Yes… it resembles a deer, but its hide is a pale colour, like honey.” Hunter stared at him expectantly for a few moments, before asking incredulously, “You really haven’t heard of it?”

“I care little for the superstitions of men,” Thorin said, leaning away from the man’s ale-soaked breath.

His client’s smug expression faded just a little into anger. “It is no superstition! Poachers have been telling tales about it for generations. It can move unseen at will and no arrows have ever been able to pierce it!”

Thorin sighed. “And what do you expect me to do with this information?”

“I want you to hunt this creature and use its hide when you make my armour.” His eyes gleamed. “I want the protection that the creature has.”

“What makes you think that I will be able to succeed where so many others have failed?”

Hunter stared at him blankly. “You’re a _dwarf,_ ” he replied, as if it were obvious. “You lot can sniff out valuable things. You should have no problems tracking it down.”

Thorin almost felt like laughing at that, but held it back to focus on the most important thing. “I want half my fee now,” Thorin demanded, finally picking up his own tankard.

“What? I am not paying you anything until I have my armour!”

Thorin shrugged. “If you want to send me on a hunt for an invisible creature that cannot be harmed, then I want half now, to pay for my time. You can give me the rest after I have forged the armour.”

The man scowled. “I’ll give you a third now, and the rest when you have finished the job.”

They negotiated for a few minutes, but Thorin knew that he couldn’t afford to turn the man down, no matter how much he might be inclined to. The man knew it too, which made things even worse.

Eventually, the man left him in peace with a third of his fee, re-joining his companions, who were all staring at him speculatively. Thorin slipped the coins into the secret pouch inside of his coat, making a mental note to approach Hunter when he was alone when it was time to collect his fee, and left the inn.

\---

In another life, if history had been different, Thorin would not have had to labour in the villages and towns and men for barely enough coin to get by, and his sister would not have to work almost every hour of daylight, barely managing to spend any time with her two boys.

Thorin’s grandfather had been king of the greatest, richest, and most magnificent of the dwarven kingdoms, known as Erebor.

But his Grandfather Thror had been overthrown by his younger brother Gror, one of Durin’s sons betraying another, and it had only been the courage of his wife, who had fled with her young son in the company of a single cousin as a bodyguard, that ensured his line’s survival.

She had escaped without the aid of the dwarves who had once sworn fealty to her, and the elves and men who had claimed to be her allies, and made a new life for herself in the Blue Mountains with her son, and her family had lived there ever since.

But dwarves have long memories, and there were few willing to risk the ire of Erebor to help the descendants of a fallen king, no matter how little threat they presented to Thorin’s cousin Dain, who was known even in the Blue Mountains to be a wise and well-beloved king. There were few jobs and fewer resources in the small dwarven settlement where they had made their home, and what little there was did not filter down to them.

So Thorin left his sister and her two young sons every spring and summer, working to earn enough coin to see them through the winter.

He didn’t spend much time thinking of the heritage that could have been his. It was a waste of time and energy and Thorin had little to spare of either. But when his brother Frerin had died from an illness that could have been treated had they the money, or when his sister Dis looked particularly exhausted caring for her boys alone after her husband had been killed in a mining accident, or when he noticed that his nephews had sprung up in height during his absence it was hard not to feel bitter.

Or when an disreputable, unkempt man who in truth was little better than a brigand looked down on him literally and figuratively, offering to pay him far less than his true worth for a job beneath his skill.

But he had agreed to take on this job, foolish as he thought it was, so he headed outside to meet his travelling companion, cousin and closest friend, and descendant of his ancestor’s bodyguard.

Dwalin waited for him outside of the inn, lounging next to their ponies and travelling forge, fierce enough even in idleness that he was not bothered by the residents of Bree beyond the occasional dirty look.

He scowled at the look on Thorin’s face. “What did he have to say for himself, then?”

“He wants some magical weapons made from the hide of an invisible deer,” Thorin replied dryly.

Dwalin stared at him for a few seconds, before laughing incredulously. “I hope he’s paying you well for it.”

Thorin shook his head. “Better than most,” he replied, and Dwalin nodded grimly. His family’s long association with Thorin’s meant that he knew what it was like to be underpaid both in the Blue Mountains and in the towns of Men.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

“There’s no need for us both to spend a few weeks shivering in the woods looking for something that probably isn’t there,” Thorin replied.

“Are you sure?” Dwalin pressed. “You remember what happened the last time you went off into the woods by yourself?”

Thorin shoved him a little bit, but Dwalin barely moved. He just grinned.

“Here,” Thorin said, taking out the money pouch the man had given him. He removed a couple of coins and handed the rest to Dwalin. “Give this to Dis. Tell her I’ll be home soon.”

Dwalin nodded and hid the pouch away. “Don’t be too long looking for this magic deer. It’s already mid-October. You spend too long here and you’ll be cut off by the snow.”

“A month. No longer than that,” Thorin agreed. “I am not eager to travel home in the cold.”


	2. Chapter 2

Though Thorin usually gave little credence to the tales and superstitions of men, his people had their own tales of the Barrow-Downs, of the restless souls stirring beneath broken and dead stone. He travelled swiftly and warily, not wanting to be there after the sun went down, sticking to the clear paths and going nowhere near the cairns, his hand on his sword hilt the entire way.

However, his journey was unimpeded and easy; he saw nothing more threatening than a couple of hawks circling overhead and he reached the edge of the Old Forest by mid-afternoon

Thorin hadn’t been into that many forests. After all, he _was_ a dwarf, far more comfortable with mountain and rock. But even after just a few steps into the forest, he could tell that it was different from any of the few he had been in before when hunting or gathering firewood.

The Old Forest was silent. No chirping birds or the buzz of insects, and no animal calls. There were creatures in the woods, Thorin could sense them watching, but the lack of noise was unnerving. It felt as if they feared something more than him. It was also dark as soon as he stepped under the branches. Barely any sunlight filtered through the leaves, it was as if it had gone from afternoon to twilight with barely anything in between.

Thorin couldn’t see how any sort of deer could live in this forest, not even a magical one.

Nevertheless, he peered at the ground, best he could in the dim light (though that was less of a hindrance to a dwarf than it would be to most), and began to look for any tracks, any trails, any broken branches or nibbled leaves, or any sign at all of any sort of deer. But there was no sign at all. If it hadn’t been for that sense of being watched from all around, and the very occasional fluttering from an unseen bird, he would have thought the Old Forest uninhabited.

He spent the first night in the woods, huddled in front of a low, hidden fire, frustrated and restless, the task that he had agreed to seeming far more impossible now than it had when he had been sitting in the Prancing Pony.

He rose at first light to continue his search, and spent the day much the same way as the first. Every trail he followed was false, and every track a dead end. Thorin was convinced that the trees were moving when he was not looking – no matter what Dwalin said, his sense of direction wasn’t _that_ bad!

It had been four fruitless days before he saw the first hopeful sign. He stopped to fill his water skin at the edge of the river when he noticed a set of narrow hoof prints in the soft mud on the riverbank. Even as he tried to follow them, the prints seemed to fade away before his eyes.

Not only was it the first sign of any sort of deer in this accursed forest, it was the first hint he’d had that there was something more to this deer he was tracking than merely unusual colouring, though he still thought that the tale he had been told in Bree was an exaggeration.

He could not follow the tracks – they had vanished, after all – but further examination of the riverbank revealed trampled grass and broken stems, and the berries from some kind of lush green bush next to the water had half been eaten.

It was clearly a favoured spot. If Thorin was patient (which admittedly didn’t come easily to him), and quiet, and very, very lucky, he might be able to outwait the deer and hunt it down here.

Thorin knew he was almost out of time. He had already been in the woods for four days, and whilst it wouldn’t take him so long to retrace his steps, he was almost out of food. He’d expected to be able to hunt or forage in the woods, but neither had turned out to be possible. The weather was turning colder by the day as well, and he didn’t want to be travelling all the way back to Ered Luin as the snow was falling.

He would make one last ditch attempt, and then cut his losses and take only the third he had already accepted, even if it meant a leaner winter for him and his family.

He positioned himself down flat behind some bushes, far enough away to hopefully not be noticed, but not too far to be able to take a decent shot, and he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He waited until he was starting to go numb with cold and hunger, despite tensing his muscles so they wouldn’t cramp, and nibbling at one of his last hunks of bread to keep hunger at bay.

For all the time he spent concentrating, he still almost missed it when the creature approached the water. One moment the space in front of him had been empty, and between one blink and the next, the honey-gold hindquarters of the deer he had been tracking for so long appeared in front of him, its head concealed by the bush he was hiding behind.

Thorin waited breathlessly to see if he had been noticed, but when one long moment went by, then two, and the creature was still there, Thorin slowly and silently rose to his knees, nocking an arrow to his bow and drawing the string to his cheek.

He shifted just minutely to get a better angle, and that tiny noise must startled the deer, because it blurred into motion, running flat out from a standing start in a way that just seemed unnatural.

But Thorin had its trail now, and sprinted after it, heedless of the branches that whipped at his face and tore at his hair as he ran. He refused to look away as he ran, as he knew for a fact he would never find this bloody deer again if he did.

Impossible as it seemed for how swift the creature had been when it started running, Thorin was actually catching up with it, though his chest was heaving as he panted for breath. It seemed panicked, the now easily visible tracks erratic and clear to follow. As the forest grew denser Thorin closed the distance even more, risking a brief glance down to ready his bow.

He drew it back, confident in his shot, sure that the tangled trees and undergrowth would hinder the scared animal more than it would him, and pulled the bowstring tight.

He looked up to get his first clear sight of this elusive deer now that it was cornered, and froze as if he had been struck.

It was not a deer, not quite. Its lower body was of a deer, four legs and a little tail in the unusual golden colouring that he’d been told about, but that was where the similarities to a normal deer ended.

It had the upper body and face of a man, though smaller in proportion (and much smaller than that of an elf or dwarf). Its chest was lightly furred with the same bright bronzed colouring as its legs, and it had antlers in the midst of a shock of tawny curls.

And its _eyes_. Its body looked youthful, almost child-like; shorter than Thorin even with the antlers, but its eyes were deep, wild and ancient, something indescribably other.

But they were also wide with the animal fear of being hunted, and also the very mortal understanding of what it meant. The creature had tears streaming down its face and it was panting, gasping for breath, staring at Thorin with those wild, wise, wounded eyes, expecting no mercy from him.

The bow went slack in Thorin’s hands.

“What are you?” he asked aloud in shock, not expecting an answer. It was even more of a shock to get one.

“My name is Bilbo,” the creature answered through his tears, wiping its eyes with his hands in a way that made Thorin’s inside clench with guilt.

Then it - he? - jumped over Thorin’s disbelieving head, and vanished. Literally.

It took a long few seconds for Thorin’s surprise to lessen, and another for him to realise that he was completely, inescapably lost.

And that was when the first raindrop landed on his nose.

“Wonderful,” Thorin sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non6 has posted up some [more art!](http://non6ix.tumblr.com/post/104375366264/lost-he-wandered-under-leaves-by-serenbach86) Please check it out, it's so fantastic!


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin spent a miserable night, wrapped up in his cloak to try and keep off the rain. It was far too wet to even attempt to light a fire. He huddled beneath a broad, leafy tree, uncomfortable, cold and angry.

He still couldn’t believe what he had seen. When Hunter had described the deer to him, he had assumed that he would find a normal, if unusually coloured deer, a creature that tales told over pints of ale had transformed into something magical.

But the creature - Bilbo - was something that was completely outside of Thorin’s understanding. What was he? Were there others like him?

Thorin was also angry. Because whatever tales Hunter had heard, and what little he had passed on did not nearly start to reveal the truth of what Bilbo was. He had not hired Thorin to hunt an animal; he had hired him to murder a creature who could talk, and was intelligent and self-aware enough to understand and fear what Thorin had been intending.

He could not kill the creature now, not after seeing him, and not with the memory of his tears and shaking voice so clearly. Which meant that by the time he made it out of these woods, he would have wasted a week with only a few paltry coins to show for his wasted time. He hadn’t even managed to catch any extra game to shore up their supplies for the winter.

He could have joined Dwalin on the road home, perhaps picking up a couple of last minute jobs on the way. He would almost be home by now, where his sister-sons would be watching the road, waiting for him, and his sister would welcome him with a smile and an affectionate (and sometimes, like now, if he had been away for what she deemed too long, not-so-affectionate) punch in the arm.

So Thorin leant against the damp trunk of a tree, cold and hungry, trying to supress his annoyance enough to sleep. He must have succeeded at some point, because he startled awake to the sensation of something watching him. It didn’t feel unnerving, the way it had when he first entered the Old Forest. If felt as if whatever was watching him was afraid of him.

Thorin had a very strong suspicion about who was watching him, and he didn’t want to frighten him any more than he already had. He kept very still, and tried to give no indication that he was awake. After a few long moments, the feeling of being watched passed, and Thorin tried to get some more sleep.

For some reason, he felt even colder than before he had woken.

 ----

As soon as the first sign of daylight filtered through the tangled branches, Thorin gathered up his meagre belongings and tried to follow the trail he had left behind him from his chase the previous day. The broken branches and leaves that had been trampled into the mud while he ran proved oddly hard to find, however, and he was walking long enough that his damp clothes dried, and started to stick uncomfortably to his skin.

When he felt that sense of watchful fear focused on him again, he stopped. “Bilbo,” he called, and the quiet woods went even more still and silent around him. “Bilbo, I know you’re there.”

He’d called out purely on an impulse, but he couldn’t deny that he held his breath as he waited to see if there would be any answer.

There was no response for a couple of heartbeats, and then Bilbo appeared in front of him as if he had always been there. He was shifting his hooves against the ground as if he was contemplating running away, but he had not fled from him yet, and Thorin took that as a good sign.

This was the second time that he had seen Bilbo, and part of him was still disbelieving. Thorin knew he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

His silence seemed to make Bilbo more nervous. Thorin could see his eyes shifting towards his bow, and he couldn’t think of any words to reassure him, or apologise for scaring him.

Then Bilbo cleared his throat, and very quietly said, “Did you know that you are going the wrong way?”

Thorin swore vehemently in exasperated Khuzdul and Bilbo flinched away in fear, disappearing from sight as suddenly as he arrived.

“Wait!” Thorin called urgently, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bilbo remerged from further away, peaking warily at him from behind a tree trunk, his ears twitching nervously.

“I still can’t believe you can understand me,” Thorin said, wonderingly. “What _are_ you?”

Evidently that was the wrong thing to say. Bilbo frowned at him, offended. “Well, that’s a rude question. Why wouldn’t I be able to understand you?” He sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest, indignant enough to forget his fear for the moment.

“I have never seen anything like you before,” Thorin explained, and that seemed to mollify Bilbo a little. He took a couple of steps closer, emerging from behind the protection of the tree.

“I have never seen anything like you before, either,” Bilbo said, staring at him in much the same open curiosity as Thorin felt towards him.

“My name is Thorin. I am a dwarf,” he explained. “We prefer mountains to forests.”

Bilbo nodded his head, venturing another step closer. “I wonder if that’s why you can see me?”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

“Most people who come here can’t see me,” Bilbo told him. “None of the Men who come here have ever spotted more than a glimpse of me. The Hobbits never come this deep into the woods. A few of the Elves who pass this way have spoken to me, but most of them have minds already dwelling elsewhere. But you found me, and you followed me. Is it because you are a dwarf, or is it for another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin replied honestly. “I didn’t expect to find anything like you.”

Bilbo smiled at him, still quite nervous, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile back, just a little. That familiar expression on such an unfamiliar creature was incredibly endearing.

“Is that why you were following me?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin couldn’t help the pang of remorse that went through him when a flicker of remembered fear passed over his face. “I wanted to know what you were doing here. Then I thought you might be going the wrong way. The trees that way don’t really care for visitors. They tend to drown trespassers.”

“Drown people?” Thorin asked. “That’s…” The word impossible faded from his lips as he looked at Bilbo, the most improbable being he had ever set his eyes on. “You were trying to warn me?” he asked instead. “Even after yesterday?”

“You let me go,” Bilbo pointed out softly. “You could have killed me, but you let me go.”

It was more kindness than Thorin felt he had a right to expect from Bilbo, but he still asked, “Can you show me the way out of these woods?”

Bilbo shifted his weight from hoof to hoof, suddenly nervous again, and Thorin realised that he might have pushed his luck. It was only yesterday that he had chased Bilbo down, determined to kill him, and thoroughly terrifying him in the process. Warning him of danger was one thing, spending more time in his company was clearly another.

But Bilbo glanced upwards, his curls shifting around his antlers. “It’s going to rain again soon,” he said. “I can show you a safe place to shelter, and then show you the way out tomorrow, if you like?”

Thorin hesitated. He wanted to leave these woods. He wanted to go home. But tramping through wet undergrowth with rain dripping down the collar of his cloak was an utterly unappealing thought. Spending the rest of the day and night somewhere dry and then making a fresh start in the morning with someone who actually knew the way back would probably save him time.

“That’s a good idea,” Thorin replied.

Bilbo’s hand darted out and briefly brushed Thorin’s arm, leaving a lingering patch of warmth behind, and the whole forest seemed to shift around him, abruptly enough to make him dizzy.

The tress didn’t seem so intimidatingly close together, some of the dull grey daylight actually managed to filter its way down to the forest floor. The silence was broken by the occasional call from a bird that had not yet migrated and small animals chattering, and the overpowering, oppressive sense that he was unwelcome in the forest faded away.

“What..?” he asked, but Bilbo was already trotting away.

“It’s this way,” he called back over his shoulder, and Thorin hurried to catch up with him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was much, much easier travelling through the forest at Bilbo’s side. He didn’t stumble, or catch his clothes against any protruding branches and he didn’t lose all sense of direction when they were walking, though that could be because it was so much easier to see (and possibly because he was not the one leading the way, not that he would admit that to anyone else). 

Bilbo led him to a little cave, not far from the river. The entrance of the cave had been hidden by branches that had been cunningly woven together with vines to make a basic screen, obviously meant to ensure both privacy and shelter. When Bilbo pushed it aside, Thorin saw that the interior was large enough for him to stand upright in, though it wasn’t more than a few paces deep. The ground of the little den had been covered with dry bracken and leaves to make a cosy nest. Bilbo stooped to fussily remove a couple of wet leaves that had blown in when he removed the screen, before allowing Thorin to enter. 

There was just enough space for them to both sit down inside, and just in time. Almost as soon as Thorin put his pack on the ground, the first raindrops started to fall. By the time he had made himself comfortable, the rain was pouring down, drumming on the roof of the cave and waterfalling over the entrance. Thorin helped Bilbo put his screen back over the entrance, leaving just a little gap for some daylight to trickle in. 

It would have been an excruciatingly miserable afternoon to be out trekking through the woods. He could only be grateful he had somewhere dry and safe to wait the weather out.

Thorin shifted to look at Bilbo, who had not sat down. He was still a little twitchy, obviously unsure about having someone in his home.

“I would never have found this place alone,” Thorin told him, meaning it as a compliment. 

“Most people don’t make it this far in the forest,” Bilbo agreed. “But there are other things that live here that I don’t want to run into.”

“Like the angry trees?” Thorin asked and Bilbo nodded fervently.

“They are very tiresome,” he sighed. “And very long-winded. It’s best just to avoid them.”

Thorin wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why the trees were tiresome. He’d had enough shocks as it was, and he wasn’t sure if he could spend the next few days walking through the forest if he thought that the _trees_ were conspiring against them.

“So this is where you live?” Thorin asked. “Are there others like you?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, nothing else like me.” He didn’t seem particularly perturbed by that fact, and Thorin couldn’t help feeling curious. But Bilbo’s ears were twitching again, and he still hadn’t relaxed. So, showing an amount of tact that would surprise his sister, Thorin changed the subject. 

“Would you mind if I made a fire?” There were enough stray branches and kindling materials that he could use in the cave without encroaching on Bilbo’s bedding material.

“A fire?” Bilbo echoed, his eyes wide in the dim light. “I – I suppose that would be alright.”

Thorin pulled the screen aside, just enough so that they wouldn’t choke on smoke filling up the cave, and made up the fire, closely observed by Bilbo the entire time. As soon as the flame caught, and the fire began to burn cheerfully, Thorin sighed in relief. It was the closest he had come to being warm and comfortable in days.

The warmth seemed to relax Bilbo as well, he finally sat down, his legs tucked neatly under his body, his hands held out towards the blaze. 

After a few moments of just soaking up the heat, Thorin rummaged in his pack for the last of his supplies. He pulled out his last half-loaf of bread and a couple of strips of dried meat, and his almost empty wineskin. 

Bilbo, who had seemed hypnotised by the flickering fire, perked up, eyeing his food with interest. He didn’t ask, but Thorin was aware that he was somewhat in Bilbo’s debt (and he was also somewhat powerless in the face of that pleading expression) and handed half of his food over.

Bilbo sniffed the dried meat without much interest and handed it back, but he devoured the bread as if it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten, and not a loaf almost a week old, tough and dry.

“What was that?” he asked, licking all the crumbs from his fingers.

“It was just a loaf of bread,” Thorin replied, still slightly awed at the speed which the bread disappeared.

“It was really good,” Bilbo said. “Thank you.”

Thorin stared at him. He’d hunted Bilbo just the day before, and Bilbo had stopped him from walking into a dangerous situation, and given him a safe and dry place to rest, and Bilbo was thanking him for a hunk of stale bread?

He gruffly handed his half of the loaf over, along with his wineskin.

The second half of the bread vanished as quickly as the first, but Bilbo choked on the wine, making a face of disgust before quickly handing it back.

“It tastes like berries that have gone bad,” Bilbo complained, and Thorin quite couldn’t hold back a smile as he took a drink of it himself.

“That’s more or less what it is,” he explained, much to Bilbo’s bewilderment. 

Once he had eaten his meagre meal, the warmth and the wine conspired to make Thorin weary. He pulled his blanket out of his pack, and settled into the bracken, meaning just to rest his eyes for a moment.

By the time he woke, the fire had died, the rain had stopped, and morning light was streaming into the cave, shining on Bilbo who was curled up asleep next to him and making his coat gleam a rich hue of gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from work! There'll be a few more chapters up this evening! Thank you for all of your kind comments and kudos so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some hunting in this chapter.

Thorin pulled the woven screen aside and peered outside of the cave. The day was sunny and bright, the brightest it had been since he had entered the Old Forest, even though the leaves were still dripping from the previous night’s rain.

Thorin slipped out of the cave and went to the river, splashing water on his face before refilling his water bottle. It was bracingly cold, though not yet icy, but enough to remind him that he didn’t have long before the weather turned. By the time he’d finished, Bilbo had joined him, after he had covered up the entrance to his cave.

“Good morning,” he offered, and Thorin nodded at him in reply. He couldn’t help staring. Every time he thought that he had adjusted to Bilbo’s appearance, he would notice his hooves, or gleaming fur or his antlers as if for the first time, and was caught again by just how _unreal_ he looked.

Bilbo joined him at the riverbank, oblivious to Thorin’s distraction, and lowered his front legs so he could easily reach the water. He dipped his hands into the water and washed his face, in the same as Thorin had just done, before making a cup from his hands and swallowing a few mouthfuls of water.

“Are you ready to go?” Bilbo asked, and Thorin nodded, resigning himself to a hungry few days as they travelled.

The forest was still easier to travel in while accompanied by Bilbo, though he occasionally had trouble keeping up with him. Bilbo was swift and nimble, able to leap over piles of rocks or over puddles of churned-up mud and fallen leaves, whereas Thorin was forced to clamber ungainly over them. Bilbo always waited for him though, never going so far ahead that Thorin could not spot his bright coat through the trees.

“How far away do you live from the forest?” Bilbo asked as they walked. Bilbo had plucked some berries from somewhere, and offered him a handful. Thorin accepted them gratefully, even though they weren’t his first choice for breakfast.

“At least two weeks travel,” Thorin replied. “More if the weather turns.”

Bilbo’s eyes were wide and eager. “So far away? What is it like there? It must be very different to the forest.”

Thorin glanced at him, surprised that this magical creature was as intrigued about him as he was about Bilbo, but perhaps it wasn’t so astonishing. By his own admission, Bilbo had never seen a Dwarf before.

So Thorin found himself talking about his family’s home in the small Dwarven town within the mountains of Ered Luin. They lived close to the entrance of the settlement; the larger and more secure homes were deeper within the mountains, but they had easy access to the surface, where his sister had a garden for her sons to run around in. He spoke of his sister, strong-willed and good-humoured despite all the tragedy that had befallen her, and her mischievous boys, and his cousins, loyal to them both even though it made for a harder life for them.

He talked for longer than he was accustomed to, but Bilbo didn’t show any sign of getting bored, in fact he appeared fascinated by the tales of a life so different from his own.

“They all sound lovely,” he commented when Thorin’s narrative came to an abrupt halt, awkward at revealing so much of himself to someone who was a stranger, in every sense of the world. “You must never be lonely.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo. He was quite frequently _alone;_ he and Dwalin didn’t always travel together, but he was never really _lonely_. He always knew that there was someone waiting for his return.

But Bilbo, who for all his strangeness was obviously intelligent and verbose, was lonely enough that he risked befriending someone who had tried to hunt him not that long before.

“Do you have no family?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo shook his head, his curls catching on his antlers as he did so.

“No,” Bilbo said softly, kicking at a pile of fallen leaves with a hoof. “But I am not the only one who lives in the forest. There are other creatures and spirits who live here too. Iarwain and his mate Goldberry have a home not far from here, and I sometimes speak to the elves and the Istari who travel through the woods.”

“The Istari?” It was one of the few Elven words Thorin recognised. “The wizards?”

“Yes!” Bilbo replied, obviously pleased that Thorin knew who they were. “One who dresses in grey, and another in brown. There is one who dresses in white but he doesn’t see me. The others talk to me whenever they pass through the forest.”

It probably wasn’t surprising that most of the Wizards could see Bilbo, now that Thorin thought about it. “But this Iarwain is not like you?” Thorin asked carefully.

Bilbo laughed brightly. “No, not at all! Iarwain has lived here before there was a forest.”

“How long have you lived here?” Thorin asked, feeling the hair on the back of his neck start to prickle.

“A long time,” Bilbo told him. “But not always.”

“Where did you live before?” Thorin asked in surprise. Surely he would have heard of creatures like Bilbo if they had been outside of the Old Forest?

Bilbo’s face scrunched up, either in thought or pain, Thorin couldn’t tell. “A green place, before it all went dark. Then I was here. I don’t remember very well.”

“That’s alright,” Thorin said quietly. Obviously the memories of whatever had happened before Bilbo lived in the Old Forest were troubling and upsetting and he hadn’t meant to make Bilbo relive them.

Bilbo’s shoulders were slumped, and his ears were lowered, but he perked up when Thorin pointed out a patch of berries for them to share.

The rest of the day passed quickly, even accounting for Thorin’s difficulties in manoeuvring around fallen trees and crossing over a shallow stream filled with stones as slippery as ice. Bilbo, steady on his four legs, watched his unsteady progress with both amusement and bewilderment.

The rested that night in a hollow between two trees, dry enough from the night before that Thorin could light another fire, much to Bilbo’s obvious enjoyment. Bilbo shared out the results of his foraging; more berries, and a few large mushrooms that Thorin regarded with some suspicion. Thorin accepted the food gratefully, if unenthusiastically.

“We are almost half-way there,” Bilbo told him quietly. “We should reach the outskirts of the forest by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Thorin said, still appreciative that Bilbo had taken the time to show him the way, although he was a little surprised at how fast the return journey seemed to be going. He must have spent more time that he thought following false trails and generally going around in circles. He couldn’t wait to leave the forest and set out for home, but he also realised with a little pang of surprise that he would be sorry to say goodbye to Bilbo. A life of travelling meant that he was used to leaving acquaintances behind with little thought or regret, but he knew that Bilbo would linger in his memory, and for more than just his unique appearance.

“You’ll be home before too long,” Bilbo said, though he was talking to his hands. Thorin couldn’t tell from his downturned face, but he thought that Bilbo might regret having to say goodbye to him, too.

“I’ll be able to have a hot meal, before I set out for Ered Luin,” Thorin said aloud, instead of pointing out his observation. “I wish I’d brought fishing gear with me, now.”

“You eat fish?” Bilbo asked uncertainly, and Thorin nodded wistfully. The berries were better than he would have had if he had been alone, but didn’t exactly make a hearty meal for a hungry dwarf.

Bilbo untucked his legs from beneath him and rose to his feet, heading towards the river. Thorin stared after him curiously, though he knew that Bilbo wouldn’t leave him alone for too long.

When Bilbo returned, he was holding a limp grayling in his hands, fresh enough that its eyes were still clear and shiny. He handed it over with an unhappy little twist to his mouth.

“How did you catch it?” Thorin asked, surprised and oddly touched. Bilbo obviously wasn’t pleased about it, but had caught it for him anyway.

“The forest understands hunger,” was Bilbo’s slightly unsettling reply, but Thorin was too hungry to dwell on it for long.

Thorin cleaned and prepared the fish quickly, pulling out the cooking gear that he always carried with him and seldom used, and started frying up the fish. The smell of the first hot food he’d had since Bree set his mouth watering, even though the fish was unseasoned.

Bilbo refused Thorin’s offer to try the fish, but when Thorin cooked the mushrooms alongside it, he scarfed them down so quickly he burned his fingers and tongue.

Thorin passed his waterskin over without comment.

Thorin used his belt knife and fingers – more resistant to heat than Bilbo’s – to eat his way through the fish. That night he wrapped himself in his blanket and propped himself up against the tree, and drifted off to sleep, warm, comfortable and with a full belly.

\----

Both he and Bilbo were quiet the next morning as Thorin packed his gear away and made sure there was no sign of their campsite or his meal from the previous night.

They were mostly silent as they walked as well, though Bilbo occasionally pointed out a few things to Thorin; a tree where owls nested, or a mostly hidden badger sett. He kept sneaking glances at Thorin, and Thorin knew he was doing the same to Bilbo as he tried to memorise all his unusual features.

He didn’t want the memory of him to fade into dream-like uncertainty once he left the Old Forest. He would never be able to tell anyone about what he had seen. Dwalin wouldn’t believe him, and Dis would simply think that he had banged his head at some point. His nephews would believe his tales, for a little while, then they would grow out of them, and stop asking for stories about the strange deer he had found in the woods. Eventually, Thorin himself might not believe his own memories, and for reasons he could not fully explain to himself, that thought made him unhappy.

As they crossed through a clearing that Thorin would have sworn was not there when he first entered the woods, Thorin saw a small herd of deer, something that until that moment he had started to suspect was not actually present in the Old Forest.

“We’re almost there now,” Bilbo said, but Thorin barely registered his voice. The idea and the action happened simultaneously. Thorin tugged an arrow from his quiver, nocked an arrow to the string of his bow, pulled it back and released it in one smooth movement.

He barely had to aim. The deer had not reacted to their presence in the clearing. The arrow slipped cleanly between the animal’s ribs, and it didn’t even manage to take a step before it fell.

The other deer fled, but Thorin didn’t care about that. He had what he came into the Old Forest for. A deer.

“What have you done!” Bilbo exclaimed shrilly behind him.

Belatedly, Thorin realised that he probably should have explained before he fired the arrow.

When he turned to face Bilbo, his words were stopped by the expression of horror on his face. His eyes were wide and shocked, almost as terrified as he’d been when Thorin had pointed the arrow at him, and the fur all over his body was standing on end.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, hurriedly putting his bow down, but Bilbo shook his head and backed away.

“I didn’t grant you safe passage through the forest for you to do that!” Bilbo cried, his voice shaking. “I didn’t hide you from the things that live here to make it easier for you to kill! How could you? You are not even hungry!”

“Bilbo, I…” Thorin tried again, but Bilbo vanished from his sight as if he had never been there.

“Bilbo!” he called after him, belatedly reaching out to him, but there was only silence in response. After a long moment spent cursing to himself, he headed towards the fallen deer. He had no idea how long it would be before the forest went dark and unwelcoming around him once more.

He should have known that Bilbo would react that way. He hadn’t been happy fetching Thorin that fish but he could obviously understand hunger, though knowing now how much he must have hated Thorin eating the fish made him feel guilty for how much he’d enjoyed it. It must have seemed to him that he had killed the deer for no reason, and now there was no way to explain otherwise.

Thorin found that he didn’t want Bilbo to think poorly of him, but it was too late.

Still cursing, he knelt by the deer and carefully sliced through its belly, pulling out its innards and burying them. He trussed it up with the rope and oiled cloth he had packed for this exact purpose.

Once he was done preparing the deer, he lingered for a while, cleaning and putting away his knives slowly as he peered into the forest around him. Part of him wanted to try and find Bilbo, to apologise and explain, but he knew it was unlikely he would ever find his way back to his cosy little den.

With a sigh of regret, he bent down to heft the deer onto his shoulder, and decided to try and find his way out of the forest alone, but before he took a single step, Bilbo reappeared beside him. His eyes skittered away from both Thorin and the dead deer, but he couldn’t help but notice that Bilbo’s face was wet with tears once more.

“Are you ready?” Bilbo asked him, all the animation gone from his voice.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked gruffly.

“I promised to help you find the way home,” Bilbo said, his voice small and wounded.

He’d made Bilbo cry twice in less than three days, and he was still offering to help him. Thorin felt unsettled within himself, the same way he did whenever he fell out with Dis, or had one of his rarer disagreements with Dwalin.

“Bilbo,” he explained hurriedly. “The man who sent me here paid me a lot of money to hunt you.” Bilbo flinched, so Thorin carried on quickly. “If I return without a deer, he might send someone else after you, and there is no guarantee that they won’t be able to see you. This way you’ll be safe.” And, because it wasn’t the whole truth, and he felt guilty enough as it was without adding lying by omission, he continued. “My family will need the coin over the winter, but we will also use the venison. I’ll preserve the meat and it will last us all winter. The deer won’t go to waste, I promise.”

Bilbo glanced at him, before shifting awkwardly. “Really? You weren’t just hunting for fun?”

“No, I swear it, Bilbo.”

Bilbo took a deep breath, and the tension started to drain out of him. “Cruel things come to these woods at times. I didn’t like to think that you were one of them.”

“I should have explained,” Thorin replied quickly.

Bilbo smiled at him, a little shyly, and Thorin felt the knot of guilt begin to dissipate.

“I do have one question though,” Bilbo said Thorin heaved the gralloched deer onto his shoulders, atop his pack, as they prepared to set off.

“Yes?” Thorin enquired.

“I don’t understand what _coin_ is.”


	6. Chapter 6 Part 1

The journey through the last part of the woods was quiet. Thorin had tried to explain the concept of currency to Bilbo, but had only succeeded in thoroughly confusing him. Other than that there was little conversation between them. Although the tension that had sprung up between them had dissipated with his explanation, the earlier, surprising ease that he had found with Bilbo had not quite returned, either.

As the trees thinned, and Thorin could see the barren, brown grass of the Barrow Downs in front of him, Bilbo halted abruptly, almost causing Thorin to drop the deer.

“I can’t go any further,” Bilbo told him. “I can’t leave the forest.”

“I think I can find my way from here,” Thorin assured him.

Bilbo’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile, the first since Thorin had shot the deer. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Thorin frowned at him – he really didn’t get lost that often! – but it only made Bilbo’s smile grow, and Thorin found himself returning it.

“Thank you,” Thorin said, clearing his throat as his voice sounded unexpectedly rough. “Thank you for all you have done for me.”

Bilbo ducked his head, but Thorin could see that the tips of his ears turn pink where they peeked out from amidst his curls. “You are welcome, Thorin.”

There was a brief pause while Thorin tried to think of something else to say, some other way of appreciating his gratitude, when Bilbo suddenly burst out, “Will you come back?”

“Would you like me to?” Thorin asked, genuinely surprised. The deer on his back seemed to grow heavier in reproach for a moment.

Bilbo twisted his fingers together, and nodded his head shyly.

“Then I will,” Thorin promised, something inside himself feeling lighter at the thought that Bilbo wanted him to return. “I’ll come back in the spring.”

Bilbo smiled at him again. “I’m glad.”

Thorin took one last long look at Bilbo, standing under the shade of the tree canopy with one hand resting lightly on a tree trunk. “Goodbye Bilbo,” Thorin said quietly, shifting the deer on his back to a more comfortable position.

“Goodbye Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, and Thorin could feel his luminous gaze on his back for every step he took out of the forest.

As eager as he was to get this armour made and head home, it was still something of a struggle to say goodbye to Bilbo, and he walked away from him with a sharp pang of regret.

At least he had the spring to look forward to, now.

 


	7. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief mention of past violence in this bit.

_(If Thorin had gone back to Bree through the Shire, he might have heard a story of long ago, when the winter was incredibly cold, and the rivers froze._

_He might have heard the tale of a poor hobbit child, taken into the woods by the wargs and goblins who took advantage of the weather to attack the simple, unwarlike folk._

_He would not have heard of any speculation of the fate of the child – hobbits dislike thinking of suffering, especially to one of their own – but he would have heard the story of how, ever since then, the woods were dark and threatening only to those of non-hobbit kind, and how the trees that had once menaced them guarded them instead._

_He might have heard the Brandybucks, the hobbits who lived the closest to the forest, speak of an unseen, kind presence, one that returned lost children and made the once barren Bonfire Glade where troublesome trees had been burned verdant and green once more._

_If Thorin had seen a hobbit close up, rather than just a couple of disinterested glances in Bree, he would have known the right comparisons for the snubbed nose, curly hair and pointed ears of his strange new friend._

_If Thorin had heard that tale, he might have had some answers to the questions that plagued him on the way back to Bree._

_But he did not go through the Shire, the hobbits were overlooked as they preferred, and Thorin was left to wonder.)_


	8. Chapter 6 Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Thorin prepares the deer hide to make it into leather.

Although the sun began to set before Thorin was halfway across the Barrow Downs, he encountered no problems. He wasn’t sure if it was simply pure luck, or if whatever protection Bilbo had granted him in the Old Forest was still with him.

Either way, Thorin was grateful. The deer on his back was more awkward than it was heavy, he had to keep pausing to readjust it on his shoulders, but it would still weigh on him after a while, and make it difficult to wield a weapon. 

It felt strange, coming back to Bree. Even at night it was noisy and full of life, jarring and disorienting after the silence of the forest and the peaceful companionship he’d found with Bilbo. He found it difficult to adjust back to normality. 

At least the darkness worked to his advantage once he reached Bree, as it was unlikely that he would run into Hunter, who even with what little skill and intelligence Thorin credited him with, would probably notice right away that while the deer Thorin had shot was large and had an impressive rack of antlers, it was otherwise unremarkable.

He passed through the back streets to make it even less probably that Hunter would spot him; he knocked on the one door in Bree where someone might aid him. 

Bree’s blacksmith was a Dwarf known as Jimli, and he was on friendly enough terms with Thorin and Dwalin. His family had lived among Men for long enough that he didn’t care about Thorin’s fallen lineage, or judge Dwalin for associating with him. He only cared about their skills as blacksmiths, which was a refreshing change. They had come to an agreement with him many years before; they would not take on any blacksmithing work in Bree without consulting with him first, and he would allow them to use his bigger forge if they needed, and would also allow them take any additional resources they were short of for a cut of their fee.

It had worked out well for them all so far.

Jimli opened his door and peered at Thorin in the candlelight that poured through the entrance. His eyes flicked to the bundle on Thorin’s shoulders, and he sighed. “Take that round the back, lad.”

Thorin inclined his head and headed to the workroom at the back of the house, and unwrapped the deer, before Jimli appeared behind him with a lantern.

“Nice shot,” he said approvingly, and Thorin only grunted in reply. It was hard for him to take pride in the shot, considering that skill had very little to do with it, and how much it had upset Bilbo.

“I thought you’d know better than to get mixed up with that Hunter though,” Jimli continued, scratching at his bald head. He said the name Hunter with as much scorn as Thorin felt. 

Thorin shrugged. “He pays well enough,” he replied, and Jimli snorted.

“Aye, well make sure he actually pays you,” Jimli advised, and Thorin nodded. He was all too familiar with people trying to cheat him out of payment.

Jimli clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s cold enough in here that it won’t spoil. Hang it up for now and get started in the morning. The wife says you can stay here the night as long as you have a bath first.”

“Thank you, Jimli,” Thorin said.

Jimli laughed. “We’ll discuss payment in the morning,” he said as he left. 

Thorin hung the deer up by its hind legs, and left, making sure the door was firmly latched behind him.

He had the promised bath, and ate the stew that Jimli’s wife had set out for him, before heading off to bed. He found himself remembering Bilbo’s peaceful face as he slept next to him before he drifted off himself.

\---

The next day, Thorin carefully skinned and prepared the deer hide before Hunter barged his way into the work room. He grimaced as he looked at the lifeless deer, but his eyes widened when he saw the drying hide.

Thorin had mixed lime and alum to significantly lighten the deer hide and it seemed to have fooled Hunter, because he was grinning. 

“How did you find it?” Hunter asked.

Thorin wasn’t much of a tale-spinner, so he just told the story of how he found Bilbo, without naming him, of course, leaving Hunter to assume that the deer he’d killed was the one he had been sent in for.

“Do you think I’ll be as hard to find when I’m wearing this?” he asked, and Thorin shrugged. 

“How long will it take to finish?” Hunter inquired, too enthusiastic to pay attention to Thorin’s reticence. 

“It’ll take longer the more you stand here and distract me,” Thorin replied brusquely. 

Hunter shrugged and held up his hands, before he backed out of the room. He was still grinning though, so Thorin wasn’t concerned about losing his business. He was just relieved that Hunter had believed his story and wouldn’t be sending anyone else into the Old Forest after Bilbo.

It took Thorin a couple of weeks to prepare and harden the leather, and another one to shape and tool it to Hunter’s specification, which unfortunately meant that he had to spend more time in the man’s company. Every time he put a stitch or rivet in the armour, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that the hide had almost come from Bilbo, and his distaste for the man grew stronger every time. 

He spent a lot of his time in the workshop alone, aside from Jimli bustling in and out retrieving tools and materials for his forge, and the job was easy enough that he found his mind wandering. Some of that time he spent thinking of practicalities for the journey home, and some was spent anticipating seeing his family again. He also spent a lot of it remembering his short time with Bilbo.

Rather than the memories fading as he had feared, they seemed to grow stronger every time he dwelt on them. He could easily bring to mind the exact shade of his fur, and the shy quirk of his lips when he smiled, and the shifting colours in his deep eyes. He wasn’t sure how he perfectly recall every detail of someone he had not even known for three days, but he could.

Once he had made a chestplate and set of matching gauntlets, he made a short sword and two knives, using the antlers to make the hilt and grip. He spent a long, satisfying afternoon carving ornate runes into the handles.

When he was finally done, he insisted on Hunter coming to him to collect and pay for his gear in Jimli’s work room, alone, as he knew that if he came with his friends, he would try and bargain, or even attempt to take it outright. Fortunately, he was thrilled enough with the armour and weapons that he didn’t give more than a brief moment towards bargaining. 

He counted out his coins into Thorin’s waiting palm, before fixing the leather armour over his rusted shirt of inferior metal rings. Thorin thought that he would have been better off investing in some proper Dwarf-forged iron armour, rather than trusting in myths to protect him, but now that he had the money, he cared very little about what happened to Hunter.

“How does it look?” he asked them, still grinning foolishly.

“Oh aye, very fine,” Jimli replied, while Thorin tried to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

Hunter pulled one of the knives out of its sheath, and squinted at the runes.

“What are these?” he asked suspiciously.

“Dwarven runes for protection,” Thorin replied blandly. Behind him, Jimli coughed in a way that suggested he was holding back laughter.

Hunter didn’t notice. “Well, I am not paying extra for them.”

“Believe me,” Thorin assured him. "It was my pleasure.”

Once Hunter finally left, Jimli burst out laughing. “I’m impressed at how many Khuzdul swear words you managed to fit onto the hilts!”

Thorin shrugged, smirking to himself. 

He handed over Jimli’s cut, along with a few pieces of the venison. Between the time spent making the weapons and armour, he had also preserved the meat by smoking and salting different portions of it. He’d even sold the bones to the butcher, who could sell them for making stock.

He was relieved that he had kept his promise to Bilbo, but spring felt like it was a long time away before he could let him know that. 

But at long last, he could be on his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimli is the name of the blacksmith from the Lego Hobbit game. Hopefully including him here makes up for the fact that I immediately hit him with whatever mithril weapon I had just forged to see what it did!


	9. Chapter 7

By the time Thorin reached the foothills of Ered Luin, he was already wading through the first flurries of snow. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep enough to be a hindrance, or even truly uncomfortable, but it was enough to spur him on to walk the last few miles in the dark rather than making camp.

The gates of the settlement were guarded, as usual, but they didn’t impede Thorin as he entered the interior of the mountain settlement. They only stared and muttered after him, but Thorin was long used to that, and didn’t react.

He was glad to be out of the wind and the cold, and even more glad to see the front door of his family home. He pushed down his hood, already dripping with melting snow, and rapped quietly on the door.

It was opened in moments, and he was greeted by the much-missed glaring face of his sister.

“And just where have you been?” she hissed, dragging him inside by his sleeve.

“Hello, Dis,” Thorin replied mildly, letting himself be manhandled through the door.

“Don’t you hello me,” she replied crossly. “Do you know what I’ve had to put up with? The boys must have asked me when you were due home at least twenty times today! And that’s just today!”

Thorin bent down the scant inches between them and pressed his forehead to hers apologetically. She sighed and pulled him into a proper hug for a long moment.

“Is it true what Dwalin said? Someone hired you to hunt a magical deer?”

“That’s right,” he replied, taking his heavy pack from his shoulders and hanging his damp cloak up.

“You?” Dis checked incredulously. 

Thorin frowned at her. “I _am_ an excellent shot,” he pointed out. 

“It’s not your hunting skills I doubt, brother,” Dis informed him. “You once got lost in my garden, if you recall.”

Thorin rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen. “I can’t believe I actually missed you.”

Dis laughed and followed him. “So did you find it? This magical deer?”

For one long moment, Thorin contemplated telling her. He wanted to tell about how he had felt in that moment, knowing that he had hunted and almost killed a unique and intelligent creature who feared him, and about the strange friendship that had tentatively grown between them. About the fact that he caught himself thinking about Bilbo at the oddest times.

But his sister was an eminently practical dwarrowdam, and had never been given to flights of fancy, not even when they had been very young children. He and Frerin had often played at adventures when they should have been practicing their blacksmithing and carving skills, whilst Dis worked diligently at her jeweller’s craft (and rapidly outstripped them both in progress because of it). 

She wouldn’t believe his story, and would only worry about him because of it.

“I found _a_ deer,” Thorin told her instead, and described over a mug of ale how he had shot a large deer and dyed its hide a lighter colour. She almost laughed herself sick when he described what he carved into the antler hilts.

Her laughter caused two sleepy, tousled heads to peep around the door before he was swarmed by his two young nephews. 

“Uncle!” his eldest nephew Fili cried.

“You’re back, you’re back!” cheered his youngest, Kili. 

“I’ve lost a tooth!” Fili told him, pulling his lower lip out so he could see.

“I’m nearly as big as Fili now!” Kili declared, standing up on his tip toes.

“Did you fight any monsters?” Fili demanded, waving his hands in excitement. 

“Did you bring us any presents?” Kili asked, trying to peer into his pockets. 

“Kili,” Dis scolded, but Thorin only smiled at them. Their exuberance at his return always made the frustrations of travel worthwhile.

“You can have them in the morning,” he promised Kili.

“Really?” he asked, squirming in excitement.

“Really,” Dis assured them. “After all,” she added, picking up Fili, and ruffling his hair that was as blond as her own. “Your uncle will still be here in the morning.”

“Promise?” Kili, yawned into his ear as he was piggybacked back into his bedroom. 

“I promise,” Thorin whispered, helping Dis to tuck them both in. 

Once they were done, Thorin found himself yawning as well. Dis shook her head in amusement and gave him a little push in the direction of his bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Thorin,” she said, and then added warmly, “It’s good to have you home.”

\---

The winter passed both quickly and slowly. Every day that he spent with his family seemed to fly by rapidly, but every time he thought about how long it was until spring, time seemed to stretch on endlessly before him.

He helped Fili with train with the little practise knives that Thorin had forged for him, and Kili with the bow that Dwalin had made, and generally tried to keep them entertained while Dis was doing bit-work for the jewellers guild (something she was massively over-trained for, to both of their annoyance, but they both knew from long experience there was nothing they could do about it), and catching up with Dwalin and his elder brother Balin, who worked as a tutor for some of the poorer children of Ered Luin. 

Usually he regarded the coming of spring as a sort of grim necessity. He didn’t like to leave, but it there was no other way for their family to survive. This time, he couldn’t hide his feelings of restlessness and anticipation. He didn’t want to leave his family for months at a time, of course, but he was also eager to see Bilbo again.

Thorin couldn’t get him out of his mind. He found himself thinking of him at odd times, wondering what he was doing, whether he was lonely, or whether he was cold. 

Dis, of course, picked up on his distraction. “You’re always daydreaming these days, brother,” she observed one mealtime. When Thorin didn’t reply she just sighed. “At least eat your venison. You’ve barely touched it.”

But Thorin found he had lost his taste for it. He slipped his piece over to Fili, as it was his favourite, when Dis wasn’t looking.

Finally, the snows melted and the mountain passes were clear and he and Dwalin were packed and ready to leave. He said goodbye to his sister, nephews and Balin with as much regret as usual, his nephews especially as they clung to his legs and tried to persuade him to stay, but by the time they made it to the foothills of the mountains, Thorin couldn’t help smiling a little. 

“Don’t know why you are so cheerful,” Dwalin grunted as he urged the skittish pony that was pulling their travelling forge onwards.

“It’s a nice day,” Thorin replied blandly. Dwalin gave him a side-eyed look of consideration, but didn’t push the matter.

Once they reached Bree, and after they had finished a few jobs for Jimli, since his workload had increased over the winter, Thorin left Dwalin in the Prancing Pony with only a few ales for company, informing him that he would be back in a few days.

Dwalin nodded, but the look in his eyes was sharp. He clearly knew that Thorin was hiding something, but wasn’t going to pry, yet, anyway.

Thorin went to the market and brought a fresh loaf of bread and a pot of jam, before heading off to the Old Forest. 

He walked more confidently through the Barrow Downs this time, and again he faced no threats. When he walked under the boughs of the forest, he was amazed by the difference. Where before, even after he met Bilbo, the woods and been quiet and muted by autumn, they were alive with a cacophony of birdsong and blossoming green.

He hadn’t gone more than ten paces into the woods, marvelling at the difference, before Bilbo appeared at his side with a wide and beaming smile. 

“You really came back!” he exclaimed.

Thorin felt an odd sort of tightness within his chest ease for the first time since he had last seen Bilbo, and he could help but smile in response to that exuberant greeting.


	10. Chapter 8

“Did your family have enough coin for the winter?” Bilbo asked as they walked together in what Thorin assumed was the right direction for Bilbo’s den. He pronounced the word ‘coin’ carefully; like it was a strange foreign word he wasn’t sure he was getting right.

“We did,” Thorin told him. “In no small part to you,” he added, and watched as Bilbo’s cheeks and ears turned pink.

“I didn’t do much,” Bilbo demurred, scuffing one of his hooves against the ground in embarrassment.

“You helped me, and did not turn your back on me when you could have done,” Thorin pointed out.

“Please, let’s say no more about it,” Bilbo said beseechingly, and Thorin, reassured that Bilbo had truly forgiven him, obligingly changed the subject.

“How did the winter treat you?” he asked, and Bilbo shrugged.

“No different from usual,” Bilbo said. “It was cold, and a little dull.” His smile was shy. “I’m glad of the company now.”

Thorin was glad that Bilbo had scampered a little way ahead, as his own cheeks were starting to feel a little warm.

That night when they made camp, Thorin presented him with the bread and jam, and Bilbo took it with the sort of reverence Thorin would have usually associated with treasure, but for all the speed he devoured it with, he made surprisingly little mess with the crumbs. Thorin couldn’t help being pleased that Bilbo enjoyed it so much, though he was a little embarrassed at how profusely Bilbo thanked him. It was just a loaf of bread, after all.

The next day they reached Bilbo’s den, and Thorin stowed his pack safely there before Bilbo showed him some of the sights of the Old Forest. He peeked into a wolf den, amazed that they showed the same lack of anxiety that the deer had shown the previous autumn. He pointed out birds’ nests and butterflies, all with the same enjoyment.

Thorin watched Bilbo as he led him through the trees, his face bright and vibrant, his hands gesturing as he drew Thorin’s attention to something, or just to emphasise his chatter. He was still not entirely fond of the woods, even though they were much less oppressive now than when he first entered them, though he did appreciate seeing them through Bilbo’s eyes. But he mostly just enjoyed being at Bilbo’s side, being in his company.

As well as the parts of the woods Bilbo liked, he also took Thorin to the deepest part of the forest, where even with Bilbo’s presence; the trees were dark and ominous, the creaking boughs almost sounding like angry words.

“Don’t ever go into those trees,” Bilbo whispered to him. “If you ever get lost, wait where you are and I’ll find you. These trees are old and bitter-hearted. They tolerate me, but would destroy you just for intruding.”

“What do they have to be bitter about?” Thorin asked, staring at the bent and misshapen branches.

“They remember when this forest used to cover most of the world. They are angry that they have been cut down, and reduced.”

Thorin shuddered, and let Bilbo draw him away. There was a reason dwarves were not fond of forests.

\---

After that first meeting, Thorin soon got into a routine with his visits to Bilbo. If they were working in the towns of Bree-land close to the Old Forest, once they had finished whatever job they were doing, he would leave Dwalin alone in whatever inn they happened to find a room in, stop at a bakery or confectioners to pick up a treat for Bilbo, and head to the Old Forest for a few days.

He was familiar enough now with the forest to find his way to Bilbo’s den by himself, although Bilbo usually realised that he was in the forest before he’d been there too long. Seeing Bilbo appear in front of him, a big beaming smile on his face and his tail twitching in excitement never failed to fill him with a peculiar sort of joy, and became a memory to cling to whenever work was scarce, or he was treated dismissively by the people who were underpaying him.

Bilbo had shown him different things in the forest that Thorin would have never thought to notice before they had met. He saw fluffy chicks grow into young birds ready to take their first flight, and otters playing in the water. Bilbo took him to caves, half submerged by river-water with glow-worms lighting up the celling, and Thorin stared at them for a long time.

“There are caves like this in Ered Luin,” Thorin murmured, looking up at the twinkling lights. “My brother and I used to play in them.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Bilbo said from close behind him.

“He died,” Thorin responded quietly. “Long ago.” It had been years, but it still hurt.

Bilbo lay a hand on his shoulder, curling his fingers into his cloak, and simply stood with him for a long time. His presence was a comfort, and Thorin found it strangely easy to confide in him.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Bilbo said one evening on another visit, as they relaxed by the fire outside of his den. Bilbo was munching on the cake he’d brought with him, and Thorin was smoking his pipe. At some point, Thorin had draped his arm across Bilbo’s back. Bilbo hadn’t objected, so Thorin left it there. “You could go anywhere, but you keep coming here. It’s nice.”

“I enjoy coming here,” Thorin replied honestly, and Bilbo smiled.

But the summer green for the forest started to fade into browns and reds, and Thorin knew that this visit would be the last visit for the year. Bilbo had realised too, if his downcast expression was anything to go by, but he didn’t say anything.

They spent his visit exploring the woods as they usually did, before relaxing and talking lowly together throughout the night. Thorin found himself watching Bilbo carefully. He had become accustomed to Bilbo’s unusual appearance, but he still wanted to memorise his mannerisms, the play of emotions on his face as he talked, and the way that Bilbo seemed to be doing the same to him, smiling shyly as he did so.

But morning came, and Bilbo escorted him out of the woods sadly. “I want you to have this,” he said, giving Thorin a piece of antler.

“Where did you get this?” Thorin asked, anxiously checking Bilbo’s antlers for any damage, but they appeared whole, to his relief.

“I shed them in the winter,” Bilbo admitted, embarrassed. “I never let anyone see, it is quite undignified. But I’d like you to have it, to remember me by when you go.”

Thorin took the piece of antler and stowed it carefully in his pocket, touched by the gift. “Thank you,” he replied, taking Bilbo’s hands in his. “But I will come back again in the spring. I promise.”

Bilbo nodded, almost looking tearful, so Thorin pressed their foreheads together for a long moment before turning to go.

 ---

When he arrived back in Bree, before he met up with Dwalin, he was stopped by Hunter. He was wearing the armour Thorin had crafted for him, but the leather was rough and peeling, and the knives were improperly sheathed, the blades notched.

Thorin sighed to himself. All that work, wasted.

“I have not managed to catch any more game than usual,” Hunter complained belligerently. “I keep getting caught by the town guard as well. I think you cheated me with this armour.”

“I suggest,” Thorin replied, “that you stop blaming the armour for your own deficiencies and simply choose a more appropriate nickname for yourself.”

He stepped around Hunter, ignoring his empty, shouted threats, and went to find Dwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost burst with joy when Non6ix first showed me this picture! Please show this beautiful art some love [here](http://non6ix.tumblr.com/post/104375366264/lost-he-wandered-under-leaves-by-serenbach86)


	11. Chapter 9

The journey back to Ered Luin was a quiet one. Dwalin did not seem inclined to talk, and Thorin’s thoughts were elsewhere. He often found himself touching the antler inside his pocket, thinking of Bilbo and his face as he handed it over, the way his smaller fingers and curled around Thorin’s own. When Dwalin was asleep, he spent some time smoothing it down, before he bored a hole through it so he could thread something through it and wear it around his neck once he got home. 

It wasn’t until a few days after the excitement of their arrival back died down that Thorin realised that there was more to Dwalin’s silence than his usual reticence. 

He’d taken Fili and Kili to the market, ignoring the usual mutters from their neighbours as he treated them to a new toy each and a small pouch of nuts preserved in sugar and honey (he’d also bought a third pouch to give to Bilbo in the spring) before dropping them off at Balin’s house for their lessons. 

He entered his house unnoticed, and made his way towards the kitchen just in time to hear Dis ask, “Have you noticed anything different about Thorin?” He paused outside the room as Dis continued, “He seems so unlike himself – like he’s _happy_ all the time.”

Before Thorin could be offended by that assessment of his character, Dwalin answered. “Think he’s seeing someone,” he told Dis curtly. 

“Really?” Dis said, pouncing on that piece of news gleefully. “What are they like?” 

“He keeps sneaking off. Not met ‘em,” Dwalin said shortly, and Dis’ rhapsodising halted.

“He’s not introduced you?” Dis asked incredulously, and Dwalin only grunted in reply.

Thorin didn’t have many secrets from Dwalin. They’d grown up together, been through too much together for that. It hadn’t occurred to him that Dwalin would feel put out by Thorin leaving him so often with no explanation.

But what else could he do? Dwalin was even less likely to believe him about Bilbo than Dis. 

“I’m sure we’ll meet whoever it is eventually,” Dis said. “Unless they are really hideous looking. Or an elf.”

“Same thing,” Dwalin muttered, making Dis laugh.

“And how about you,” Dis asked, and Thorin heard the scrape of a chair as Dis settled at the table. “Have you decided to do something other than stare at that young scribe in the marketplace?

Dwalin choked, and Thorin decided that it would be a good time to make his presence known. He might not be able to tell Dwalin about Bilbo, but he could at least save him from Dis’ meddling, especially in a situation that he knew Dwalin regarded as hopeless. The scribe’s brothers were very strict, and Dwalin had an undeservedly poor reputation in Ered Luin. 

Later that evening, Dis barged into his room when he was changing for bed, wearing nothing but the loose britches that he wore for sleep in the safety of his home. “Fili and Kili were making a tent out of your cloak -” she began, but then her eyes went straight to the simple, un-dwarven antler on its plain leather thong around his neck, and she gasped. “You are seeing someone! Why else would you wear such ugly jewellery?”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he replied crossly. The antler was hardly ornate, true, but it wasn’t ugly. “I’m wearing it for luck.”

“Luck,” Dis echoed. “Right, of course.” She was still grinning when she left the room, and Thorin realised that at some point he had gripped the antler as if he was protecting it. 

It was foolish to be so defensive. After all, he wasn’t _seeing someone_. Not in the way that Dis and Dwalin implied, anyway. 

\--- 

Another winter passed, and Thorin tried to conceal his keenness to leave, but he knew that both Dis and Dwalin were watching him closely. But even with all his eagerness to see Bilbo again, it was hard to say goodbye to his family. Fili and Kili especially didn’t want him to go, their tearful eyes and downturned mouths were especially hard to leave behind.

Almost as soon as they arrived in Bree and finished their first job, Thorin made his excuses to Dwalin and left The Prancing Pony. Even if he had not overheard Dwalin’s conversation with Dis, he would have been able to tell from Dwalin’s expression that he was severely unimpressed at being left again. 

He would have to think of something to tell him, later.

So Thorin made his now familiar way through the Barrow Downs and into the Old Forest. He was so accustomed to not facing any threats that when he heard the loud rustling and crashing behind him, he actually paused in a moment of shock before drawing his weapon and whirling around.

Instead of a wandering Wight or one of the stranger inhabitants of the Old Forest that Bilbo had warned him about, Thorin found the tip of his sword pointing directly at Dwalin’s throat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, quickly sheathing his sword.

Dwalin only glared at him accusingly. “You _are_ seeing an elf! I owe Dis twenty silvers!” 

“I’m not seeing an elf, Dwalin,” Thorin groaned in frustration. “Why did you follow me?”

“Something’s not right,” Dwalin said stubbornly. “You're not acting like yourself. We’re all worried about you. What are you doing in these Mahal-forsaken woods?”

“You’re here now; I suppose you are going to find out,” Thorin sighed. In truth he was looking forward to introducing Bilbo and Dwalin, and not just because of the anticipation of seeing Dwalin’s expression when he saw Bilbo for the first time. Bilbo was important to him; he’d become a great friend. He wanted him to meet his oldest friend.

“Find out what, Thorin?” Dwalin exclaimed in frustration.

Normally, Bilbo had already found him by now. Thorin was almost sure he could feel him watching. It was probably a good guess that he was nearby, but hidden, wary of Dwalin.

“Bilbo,” he called out, and Dwalin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is my friend Dwalin. He won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Bilbo appeared at his shoulder, as abruptly as ever. Dwalin’s face went slack, and swore lowly and fervently in Khuzdul.

“You said some of those words when we first met,” Bilbo observed to Thorin. He was still eyeing Dwalin warily, but the fact that he trusted Thorin’s words warmed him immeasurably. “Is that a dwarven greeting?”

“Of a sort,” Thorin replied, watching the disbelief and uncertainty chase across Dwalin’s face.

“What is that?” Dwalin demanded.

“This is Bilbo,” Thorin answered, deliberately casual.

Bilbo tutted. “His manners are worse than yours,” he observed, and Thorin laughed outright “Why do you have pictures on your head?” Bilbo asked Dwalin then, who only spluttered at him, lost for words.

“Let’s find somewhere to make camp,” Thorin suggested.

“I know a good place,” Bilbo suggested, and trotted out in front of them. 

“You wanted to know,” Thorin pointed out to Dwalin, who seemed to be frozen to the spot. 

Dwalin shook his head, coming back to himself, and glared at Thorin. “A little warning would have been nice.”

In all honesty, Thorin had almost forgotten how _strange_ Bilbo was. He was familiar now with the bright hue of his fur and hair, with his antlers and the way he moved his hooves, and how his tail twitched whenever he was excited. To Dwalin, Bilbo had to appear very bizarre indeed. 

“You’ve faced stranger things than this, surely?” Thorin asked, not able to entirely hide his smirk.

Dwalin’s glare deepened and he marched after Bilbo without another word, though he still glanced around him uneasily.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said. “Do you think you could…” he gestured at Dwalin, and Bilbo’s eyes widened. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! How rude of me!” He skipped back to them and very gingerly tapped Dwalin’s arm. Dwalin stopped mid-step, eyes almost bulging out of his head as the woods changed around him.

Once Bilbo had chosen a place for them to stop, and Thorin had set up the camp and built the fire, Dwalin demanded, “How exactly did you find him?”

“Do you remember when that Hunter hired me to find a magical deer?” Thorin said, and Dwalin nodded slowly.

“That was me,” Bilbo said, raising his hand a little from where he was sat next to Thorin.

“You _hunted_ him?” Dwalin asked, and Thorin only nodded, still feeling the lingering shame of those memories.

Bilbo patted Thorin’s arm consolingly. “I was curious,” Bilbo continued. “Most people can’t even see me, but he could. So I showed him the way out from the woods.”

“Got lost, did he,” Dwalin said, resigned, and Bilbo laughed brightly.

Thorin began to reassess his impulse to introduce them to each other.

“So,” Dwalin continued intently. “You’ve been coming back here all this time?”

“Yes, I have,” Thorin answered, curious about the way Dwalin’s jaw seemed to clench.

Dwalin was quiet and watchful for most of the night, though he did extend his hands for Bilbo to examine his tattoos and let Bilbo peer at the markings on his forehead as he tried to explain the concept behind them.

“They are written in our own language,” Dwalin explained when Bilbo asked if they had any meaning. 

“Khuzdul?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Aye,” Dwalin said, “Ye’ve heard of it?” The look he sent Thorin over Bilbo’s head was sharp and assessing.

“Only a little,” Bilbo said, oblivious to the taboo Thorin had broken just telling him the language’s name. Thorin shrugged minutely at Dwalin’s accusing gaze. What harm had it really done, telling Bilbo? 

Dwalin considering glances only stopped when he eventually decided to try and get some sleep. Bilbo shifted closer to him once the snoring began, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

“Welcome back,” Bilbo said sleepily and Thorin smiled to himself in the darkness.

He drifted off to sleep that night propped up against a tree-trunk, lulled by the familiar sound of Dwalin’s snores and Bilbo’s warmth at his side.

When he awoke in the morning, it was to find that Bilbo had dozed off with his head on Thorin’s shoulder, his head carefully turned so not to jab him with his antlers. At some point in the night, Thorin had slung his arm over where Bilbo’s upper body met his deer legs. Thorin thoughtlessly pushed the curls from Bilbo’s forehead with his free hand, his little finger briefly brushing the velvet-soft coating of his antlers. In that moment, Thorin was utterly content.

When he glanced up, however, Dwalin was staring at him, his expression unreadable. Thorin slowly withdrew his arm from Bilbo, who sighed and started to wake.

Once their camp had been disassembled, Dwalin stood decisively. “We’d best be off, Thorin. I took another job for us before I joined you.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, disappointed.

Thorin squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, and Bilbo smiled softly at him. 

Dwalin barged past them both, heading back to the path they had taken the day before. He exchanged a glance with Bilbo before they both headed after him. 

When they reached the outskirts of the woods, Dwalin waited with barely concealed impatience as Thorin pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s to say farewell.

“Goodbye, Dwalin,” Bilbo called to him, and Dwalin paused in surprise. His face twisted as if he had swallowed something unpleasant, but he jerked his head in response and turned away.

With one last forehead touch to Bilbo, and a promise to return soon, Thorin hurried after him.

They were silent for a while, before Thorin said, “I assume you realise why I didn’t tell you.”

“Aye,” Dwalin grunted, glancing over at him. “But I don’t think you should see him again.”

Thorin stopped and stared at him in utter shock. “What?”

“It’s not going to end well, Thorin.” Dwalin said. He almost looked apologetic.

“You can’t possibly think that Bilbo means to harm me?” he asked incredulously.

“That’s not the type of hurt I’m worried about,” Dwalin muttered. “You really don’t see it? How you are with him? How he looks at you?”

“See what, Dwalin?” he demanded.

“You were sneaking off to see Bilbo all last summer,” Dwalin said impatiently. “Every time I caught you daydreaming in the winter, I’d wager you were thinking about him. What is he to you, Thorin?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Dwalin,” Thorin said, turning away and beginning to walk once more. Just because he had never had any problems traversing the Barrow Downs didn’t mean it was a good place to stop and have an argument. 

“Aye,” Dwalin yelled after him. “You do. I saw you, Thorin, holding him and stroking his hair. Either you see him as a pet -” He didn’t pause for longer than it took for Thorin to bristle in objection “-Or you see him as somethin’ else, somethin’ more. And that’s what’s worryin’ me.”

“That’s…” Thorin trailed off, unable to articulate an answer. All of the things he had never allowed himself to truly think about Bilbo, the pleasure he found in his company, the way he would so carefully watch his face and expressions when the talked, how he took a foolish pleasure in making him happy, hit him all at once and stopped his words.

Oh Mahal. He was in so much trouble.

“He’s not a dwarf, Thorin,” Dwalin said urgently, grabbing his arm and yanking him back until they were face to face. “He might not even be mortal. What are you going to do, move away from your kin and live in the woods like an elf? You can’t have a life with him. That’s why you should step away now. While you still can.” 

Thorin glared at him, and Dwalin sighed. “You can punch me in the face if it’ll make you feel better, but you know I’m right, Thorin. Let him go before you’re in too deep.”

Thorin said nothing for the rest of the journey back to Bree, and nothing aside from ordering several ales that night in the Prancing Pony.

Dwalin paid for them without comment.

The idea of never seeing Bilbo again hurt, somewhere deep inside, especially after promising that he would return soon. But Dwalin was right. He was close, so close to offering Bilbo everything and he hadn’t even realised. He had even been bringing him gifts to try and win his approval and it had never occurred to him _why_. There were so many vast differences between them, so many reasons why his affections were impossible. If he let himself fall that little bit further, if he declared himself to Bilbo, and was turned down, there would be no going back for him. Dwarves only loved, truly loved, once, and rejection was like a knife wound to the soul that never really healed.

And even if Bilbo did feel the same, their circumstances were still impossible. Dwalin was right. He hated it, but it was for the best.

Still, the memory of Bilbo’s happy smile when Thorin promised to return haunted him that night.

\---

Thorin’s summer was a miserable one. The weather was fine, and the work was pouring in, and Thorin hated it all. 

He’d responded to Dwalin’s enquiring expression the next morning with a curt “drop it,” and to be fair to Dwalin, he did.

He spent the rest of the summer working long into the light evenings, before sparring with Dwalin until he was exhausted and falling into bed. He still found himself unable to sleep. He’d traced the antler piece that Bilbo had given him so many times into the night that he felt he could draw it with his eyes closed. 

He missed Bilbo. He missed him like he missed the mountains when he was in the lowland towns, like there was something irrevocably wrong and out of place. 

As the days shortened, he and Dwalin returned from Archet to Bree to stock up on provisions for their journey home. After checking in with Jimli to see if he had any last minute jobs for them (he didn’t), Dwalin stopped in the middle of the market place and groaned loudly. 

“Just go already, Thorin.”

Thorin didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “It was you who pointed all the reasons why this was a bad idea.”

“I still think it is. I was tryin’ to spare you,” Dwalin replied. “But it’s already too late for that, isn’t it? I’m not putting up with your moping all winter long. Hurry up or I leave without you.”

Thorin grasped his arm and left without another word. 

He’d never travelled so rapidly to the Old Forest. The delay was almost physically painful. 

He entered the woods, still walking quickly, but he slowed about half an hour later when Bilbo still hadn’t found him. He’d never been in the forest for this long without Bilbo appearing at his side, and he began to fear that something was wrong, that something bad had happened to Bilbo during his absence.

He called out to him, but with no reply. 

He didn’t stop to make camp that night; he travelled straight through to Bilbo’s den. He’d been there enough times now that he was familiar with the route. When he got there and pushed back Bilbo’s woven screen and peered inside.

Bilbo wasn’t there, and the bracken he used as bedding was dry and brown. Thorin’s worry only increased – Bilbo was fastidious about his bedding, and would never let it get into such a state unless something terrible had happened to him.

His mouth dry and heart pounding, he continued the search, both calling out and attempting to track Bilbo like he hadn’t needed to since his first time he entered the forest.

And like the first time, it was more to do with luck than skill that he noticed the hoof tracks in the soft mud on the riverbank. He followed them at an almost run, bursting into the clearing where they led.

Bilbo was there, and he wasn’t alone. He was curled up on the ground; his shoulders slumped and head bowed. Thorin’s chest hurt to see him so downcast. Sat next to him on a rather large rock was a man dressed in grey that Thorin recognised by reputation.

The man looked up when Thorin appeared in front of him and tapped Bilbo on the shoulder. He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw Thorin.

Bilbo scrambled to his feet with unusual ungainliness as Thorin strode across the clearing and caught him up in a fierce hug, feeling the warm skin of his back and the light fur of his upper body for the first time. He could feel Bilbo’s heart pounding rapidly, and he was slower to lift his arms and return Thorin’s embrace – perhaps due to unfamiliarity with the gesture – but when he did he clung to Thorin as tightly as Thorin was to him, tucking his face into Thorin’s shoulder.

“You came back,” Bilbo whispered, his voice muffled by Thorin’s coat. “I didn’t think you were going to anymore.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us,” Thorin murmured into his hair. “I have never been more wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked, pulling back just enough so that he could look upwards into his face. 

“Dwarves only love once,” Thorin admitted, rough and earnest. “And we are very different.” 

Bilbo’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “Is that important?”

“No,” Thorin answered as he slid his hand from Bilbo’s back to his cheek. He lowered his head, and kissed him. Bilbo’s lips were soft, and his breath was warm and sweet. It took him a few moments to get the hang of kissing, but once he did he was extremely enthusiastic about it, enough that Thorin forgot about their audience until his pointed coughing managed to break into his consciousness. 

“Greetings, Tharkȗn,” Thorin said, a little embarrassed, but not enough to let go of Bilbo.

“Thorin, son of Thrain,” he replied slowly. “I am not sure if it is a surprise to see you here.”

“What does Tharkȗn mean, Gandalf?” Bilbo asked him.

“My name among the dwarves,” Gandalf explained. “I don’t suppose you have seen my hat, have you, my lad?” 

Bilbo let go of him, much to Thorin’s displeasure, in order to search the clearing for Gandalf’s hat. 

“I am quite fond of Bilbo,” Gandalf said mildly, while Bilbo was out of earshot. “I have been for longer than he can remember. I would hate to find him so unhappy again.”

“You won’t,” Thorin assured him and Gandalf nodded but he didn’t have any time ask about how Gandalf knew Bilbo before he came running back over to them. 

“You hat was right behind you the whole time!” Bilbo exclaimed, stopping next to him and shyly slipping his hand into Thorin’s. 

Gandalf smiled. “So it is,” he said, picking it up and putting it on. “Well, since I am here and it looks like you are going to be otherwise occupied, I might pay old Tom Bombadil a visit.”

“Say hello to Iarwain for me,” Bilbo said, and Gandalf agreed warmly, before leaving them to it. Bilbo waved goodbye until he was out of sight.

They made their way slowly back to Bilbo’s den, where Thorin insisted on helping Bilbo clean out the old bedding and lay down new.

“I didn’t feel like doing it before,” Bilbo apologised, and Thorin couldn’t help feeling terrible at the realisation that his absence had obviously grieved Bilbo.

“How do you know Thar- Gandalf?” Thorin asked, correcting himself. 

“He travels through the Old Forest now and then. He always makes a point to speak to me,” Bilbo explained, surveying his tidy den in satisfaction. 

“I see,” Thorin replied, and Bilbo smiled at him, that bright smile he’d missed so much, and Thorin reached out for him again. 

Later, there would be more apologies and explanations. Later, Thorin would have to think about what to tell his sister.

But for now, he was more than happy to help Bilbo practice kissing.


	12. Chapter 10

“Have you thought about what you’re goin’ to tell Dis?” Dwalin asked and Thorin sighed.

After leaving Bilbo with fervent promises that he would come back in the spring, he’d met back up with Dwalin in Bree. Dwalin had taken one look at his face and sighed.

“I still think it’s a bad idea,” he muttered. “But you’re happy for now, at least.”

Thorin had spent the journey back to Ered Luin wondering how he would explain to Dis and Balin about Bilbo and hadn’t come up with any answers. If he thought that it would be difficult to explain _before_ he’d realised his feelings, it was almost impossible now.

Still, it had to be done. He’d warned Bilbo to expect company when he returned in the spring. But they had reached their front door and Thorin still didn’t know where to begin.

Dis welcomed them in, warning them in quiet voices that the boys had only just gone to bed. They followed her into the kitchen, where Balin was also waiting with a mug of ale in front of him. He stood up and cheerfully cracked his forehead against his brother’s.

“Hello Balin,” Thorin greeted his old friend and mentor as he poured himself a mug of ale.

“Well,” he heard Dis whisper to Dwalin. “Did you find anything out?”

Dwalin laughed. “We have a bit of a tale to tell, that’s for sure!”

Both Dis and Balin looked at him in interest, so Thorin took a deep breath and told his story, starting from Hunter’s request and ending with Dwalin sending him back into the Old Forest.

Balin’s eyes were wide and fascinated, but Dis just snorted in disbelief.

“Did you bang your head? Or are you just winding us up?”

“It’s true!” Thorin protested, and Dwalin nodded next to him.

Her eyes narrowed. “If it is, then something uncanny is going on. That thing must have cast a spell on you, enchanted you.”

“Nah,” Dwalin said, shaking his head before Thorin could object. “If anythin’, he looks at Thorin like he’s the one who’s magical.”

“Really?” Thorin asked, pleased, and Balin smiled at him as Dwain rolled his eyes.

Dis sighed in frustration. “I can’t believe no one else can see that something unnatural is happening here.”

“I’d like you to meet him,” Thorin told her. He’d expected this reaction; as well as being practical, his sister was very protective. He’d known nothing else would ease her mind.

“Oh, I’ll meet him, alright,” Dis said ominously. Thorin was suddenly glad he’d warned Bilbo that his sister could be quite formidable. “You don’t mind looking after the boys, do you?” she asked Balin.

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Of course I will, but I had hoped to meet Bilbo, myself.”

“You’ll have another chance,” Thorin began, but he was interrupted.

“We’re coming with you!” Fili declared, peeking around the doorframe where he and Kili had obviously been eavesdropping, still in their pyjamas.

“Yeah!” Kili added, bouncing on his heels. “We want to meet Uncle Thorin’s magical deer boyfriend!”

Thorin groaned and buried his face in his hands as the boys swarmed all over him.

“I can’t take you into the Old Forest,” Dis told them gently. “It’s not safe.”

“Nothin’ would happen to ‘em in the Old Forest,” Dwalin said unexpectedly. “Bilbo wouldn’t let it. It’s the Barrow Downs that are the problem…”

“You really think they’d be safe in the Old Forest?” Dis asked sceptically.

“Yes,” Thorin said with absolute certainty. “They would.”

Dis nodded slowly. She might not trust him to look after himself but she knew he would never intentionally put her sons in danger. She glared quellingly at the boys, Fili on Thorin’s lap, Kili clinging to his shoulders. “You’d have to do exactly what we say,” she told them firmly.

“We will!” Kili promised.

“Thanks Mum!” Fili added.

Dis sighed. “I’ll have to start thinking about what to pack, then.”

\---

The next day they all headed out to the market to get some shopping done.

Fili and Kili led Dis away for a “secret, special reason,” but they kept glancing back over at him, so Thorin assumed he would find out the details at some point.

He looked up from a rack of daggers to find Dwalin gazing at the next stall over, staring at the brown haired young scribe that he pretended that he was wasn’t interested in.

“Excuse me,” Thorin called over to him. Dwalin viciously elbowed him in the side. “My friend here needs to buy some good quality ink for his brother. What would you recommend?”

“Oh,” the young lad said shyly, but also looking very pleased to be asked. “Well…”

Thorin slipped off as Dwalin ducked down to listen, the entire top of his head blushing scarlet.

Later, Dwalin punched him roughly in the arm, but he was also smiling.

Thorin counted his plan of well-intentioned revenge a success.

\---

The journey from Ered Luin to Bree that spring was noisier than usual. Fili and Kili had never been so far from home before and loudly commented on every new sight that they came across.

Dis had spent much of the winter questioning him, not only about Bilbo but about what he thought they might come across in the Old Forest. Despite his reassurances, she was still naturally concerned, and as she still thought he was under a spell he wasn’t sure how reassuring he was actually being.

But they made it safely to the borders of the Old Forest, and only then did the boys’ enthusiasm start to fade.

“It’s alright,” Thorin assured them, leading the way. The woods wouldn’t seem threatening to them for all that much longer.

He looked up, and as ever Bilbo was waiting for him, and Thorin could help the smile that broke out across his face.

“Hello, Bilbo,” he said, his heart light. He stepped forward and took his hand, and from behind him he heard all the others, aside from Dwalin, gasp in surprise.

“Bilbo, this is my sister Dis, her sons Fili and Kili, and my cousin Balin. And Dwalin, of course.”

“Hello,” Bilbo said. His free hand fluttered nervously at his side. “It’s good to meet you all.”

Dwalin nodded at him, and Dis and Balin seemed to busy staring to comment, but Fili and Kili ran up to him to say hello. Bilbo reached out and patted them both on the arms, ensuring that they had the same protection from the woods as Thorin did.

“I’m glad you both came,” he told them. “Your uncle has told me a lot about you.”

They both beamed at him, and Kili tugged on his hand. “Can I ride on your back?”

“Kili,” Dis chided, but Bilbo obligingly knelt down and let Kili clamber on.

“I found somewhere close for us to stay,” Bilbo said, touching both Dis and Balin on the shoulder, and Thorin smiled as they saw the woods around them with new eyes. “It’s this way.”

Bilbo led them a sort distance, Kili clinging on to his shoulders with glee, to a different cave, much larger than the one he usually slept in, though it would still be snug with all of them inside. He’d woven a new screen for the entrance and filled the floor with the softest bedding he could find. He’d dug a fire-pit outside with the equipment that Thorin had left behind.

“You did a good job,” Thorin said, examining it as Kili climbed down to explore the inside of it with Fili, but he was already considering in the future building somewhere safe for them both, somewhere big enough for his family to visit in comfort.

“I thought I should find somewhere bigger,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. “Since I have so many guests these days. I found as many berries and nuts and mushrooms as I could store as well.”

Thorin leant down and kissed his forehead, conscious of all the unapologetically curious eyes on them, before following his nephews into the cave.

\---

They spent a week in the Old Forest, and in that time Dis’ opinion of Bilbo softened considerably.

She watched him play with her sons, letting Kili ride on his back whenever he wished, and persuading Fili to have a go when he feared that he was too big for him to carry. He also charmed down squirrels and owls for the boys to play with, and showed them rabbit burrows and fish shimmering in the rivers and pools. The boys openly doted on him, and Bilbo seemed fond of them too.

She listened whenever he spoke to Balin, about the forest and its inhabitants, or whenever he asked questions about dwarves. She watched him sort the berries he had horded to give the sweeter ones to Dwalin.

She observed them together closely as well, the way that Bilbo always seemed to find him wherever he was, the way that Thorin found himself watching Bilbo without realising it, and finally she whispered to him. “Alright. I was wrong. He adores you,” before joining Bilbo and the boys in examining caterpillars.

Bilbo sometimes seemed overwhelmed by all the company, so he and Thorin always made time to slip away from the others every now and then, to talk, or hold hands, or kiss, and just bask in the peace and comfort in being with each other.

But they did have to leave eventually. Dis and Balin had to take the boys home, and he and Dwalin still had to find some blacksmithing work to do. It had never been easy leaving Bilbo, not even the first time, but this time it was especially hard. Fili and Kili cried openly, and the others all looked regretful.

“Why don’t you give Bilbo your present,” Dis suggested to her sons, obviously in an attempt to cheer them up. It worked; they perked up and rummaged in her pack before pulling out a soft blue woollen scarf.

Thorin watched fondly as Kili climbed back up on Bilbo’s back and draped it over his shoulders, and Fili arranged it neatly at the front. “They overheard you worrying about Bilbo being cold,” Dis told him quietly. “They were very insistent on what present they wanted to bring after that.”

“They’re good boys,” he replied, touched. But eventually their bags were all packed, and Bilbo was ready to escort them at the edge of the woods.

 He bade goodbye to Balin and Dwalin fondly, and hugged both Fili and Kili who were both sad again at leaving. Dis embraced him as well, to Bilbo’s visible surprise and relief.

Then Thorin took him a few steps away for privacy, and kissed him farewell, his fingers tangling in Bilbo’s curls, Bilbo gripping tightly to his cloak.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Thorin promised.

Bilbo cupped his face and kissed him again. “I know you will.”

Then Thorin joined his family as they made their way out of the woods, Dis already promising the boys that, if they were good, they would be able to have another visit soon.

\---  
Thorin, despite his usual regret in saying goodbye to Bilbo, was in a good mood when they returned to Bree. They had all planned to spend one more night together in the Inn before they went their separate ways in the morning.

For the first time since he’d met Bilbo, he wasn’t hiding anything from his kin (or from himself). The fact that they all seemed to get on as well was another bonus. He knew that Dwalin especially still had some concerns, that their future was still uncertain, but for once Thorin was full of optimism that everything would work out.

He found himself daydreaming, sketching the design of a little cottage incorporating the cave that Bilbo had found. The rest of them left him to it, chatting over lunch. “Look how happy he is,” he heard Dis say at one point. “How can I really object to that?”

His good mood lasted until he joined the others in the market place. Fili and Kili found some sticks from somewhere, but instead of play-fighting with them as they usually did, they were holding them up against their heads like antlers as they ran and played.

It wasn’t until Thorin heard Kili exclaim, “I’m not a deer! I’m a _magic_ deer,” that Thorin looked up.

Kili was talking to a group of Men. At the front of the group was Hunter, still wearing his armour, for all his supposed doubts about it. “A magic deer, you say?” he asked Kili.

“Yup!” he answered brightly. “He lives in the woods and can turn invisible”

Thorin went over to bring him back closer to the rest of them. Hunter’s smile only widened when he saw that Kili was with Thorin, and he hurried away without another word.

“I don’t like that,” Dwalin said, glaring after him. “You should see what he’s up to. You might need to warn Bilbo.”

When they reached the Prancing Pony, they had to jump aside as a horse went charging past them. It wasn’t until Thorin saw the familiar details of the armour that he had spent so much time crafting that he realised the rider was Hunter, and Thorin felt himself go cold with fear.

“Go,” Dis said, and Thorin ran to the stable, throwing a handful of money at the attendant for the hire of a pony.

He rode across the Barrow Downs as fast as he could push the pony, but he didn’t catch up to Hunter until he reached the forest. His horse was tied to a tree branch outside. Thorin untied it and urged it to flee, and unnerved by the noises of the forest, the horse did just that. It would at the very least annoy Hunter.

Thorin kept a firm grip on the pony’s reigns, and headed in, making his way quickly to Bilbo’s new den. The woven screen was pulled across it, and when he tore it aside, the cave was empty.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. “Bilbo!” he called, and there was a rustling noise as if in answer behind him.

He turned, expecting to see Bilbo, only to find Hunter staring at him from down the shaft of an arrow.

“I knew something didn’t add up when this armour didn’t help me,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You led me right up to its den."

“The armour won’t help when you are just a poor shot,” Thorin said, his hand drifting towards his sword hilt. At this range, it didn’t matter how bad a shot Hunter was. He was almost certain to be hit.

“I’m going to kill you, you little lying, thieving bag of scum,” Hunter sneered at him. “Then I am going to lie in wait for this ‘magical deer’ you so kindly led me to and I will finally have my armour.”

Before Thorin could pull his sword, a rock sailed out of nowhere and hit Hunter on the head. The arrow fell from the bow and skittered across the ground, as he turned.

Thorin hadn’t expected Hunter to actually see Bilbo, but he clearly could. He drew back another arrow, and shot wildly, before Bilbo took two steps backwards vanished once more.

Thorin made a grab for him, but Hunter evaded him and went running in the direction that Bilbo had been in.

Thorin started to run after him, but was halted by the gentle touch of Bilbo’s fingers against his arm. He seized Bilbo by the shoulders and pulled him into a fierce hug.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Why did you let him see you?”

“What were you thinking?” Bilbo replied. “I’m invisible to most people! He was threatening you! You could have died, you foolish dwarf!”

Thorin sighed and pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I didn’t want you to be hurt.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Bilbo said dryly.

“I should probably go after him,” Thorin sighed. “He’s seen you now.”

“There’s no need,” Bilbo said, though he looked regretful. “He ran the wrong way.”

Thorin thought of the dark heart of the woods, the ominously creaking trees, and couldn’t hold back a shudder.

He sat closely with Bilbo, still trying to recover from his panic when he heard rapidly approaching footsteps. Before he could react, Bilbo patted his arm. “It’s alright,” he said, just as Balin and Dwalin crashed through the undergrowth, weapons drawn.

“Is everything alright?” Dwalin demanded, eyes wide, and Bilbo nodded.

Dis and the boys soon followed, Dis with a long, needle-thin knife in her hand. Fili and Kili threw themselves at Bilbo, Kili snuffling apologies.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Dis asked, her face a mask of cool anger.

“No,” Bilbo replied, confused. “I’m quite well. What are you all doing back?”

“We came to make you were safe, of course,” Dis replied, and Bilbo blushed.

“I suppose I am not used to people worrying about me,” Bilbo told her. Thorin wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and the boys cuddled him closer.

“Then you should get used to it,” Dis told him with a smile. “You are among family, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at how adorable this picture is! (It is also now my laptop wallpaper!) Please go and show [Non6ix](http://non6ix.tumblr.com/post/104375366264/lost-he-wandered-under-leaves-by-serenbach86) some love if you haven't already!


	13. Epilogue

Deep in the Old Forest, where almost no one goes, is a little incongruous cottage.

It is made of both wood and stone, and although it is small, there is enough space for someone with four legs and antlers to manoeuvre around easily. Inside there is a spacious larder and a fully-stocked bookcase. Not far from the house is a small forge that sees regular use. 

In this cottage Thorin and Bilbo live quite happily together for much of the year, content in each other’s company. But Thorin is still a dwarf, and still craves the reassurance of stone over his head. Bilbo is still a wild creature, used to the freedom of the forest, and sometimes one, or both of them would leave for a short time.

There is never any doubt that they would return, however, and that little cottage regularly sees visitors, both Dwarven and Istari, and more rarely, Elven or even something stranger.

It is an unusual life, they both knew, but it is a happy one.

_(And many years later, when Thorin was a very old dwarf whose hair had turned the colour of burnished iron, he lay down on his bed, and closed his eyes._

_He did not wake again, at least not as he had always been, not as a Dwarf._

_The Old Forest was filled with the sound of Bilbo’s laughter as Thorin tried to work out how he was meant to walk on his four shiny new black hooves.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos! 
> 
> And again, a huge massive thank you again to [Non6ix](http://non6ix.tumblr.com/) for the prompt and the gorgeous art. Please go and show your appreciation if you haven't already!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting this all tomorrow and over the weekend so as not to drown you all in chapters.
> 
> The title comes from a line in the poem about Beren and Luthien that Aragorn tells the Hobbits in Fellowship of the Rings but I thought it was appropriate for Thorin in this fic as well!


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